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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828642">Break Your Halo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren_rum/pseuds/Ren_rum'>Ren_rum</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Veil Brides</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Andley - Freeform, Band Fic, M/M, mlm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2019-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2019-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:13:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,765</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren_rum/pseuds/Ren_rum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The 2011 AP Tour is about to kick off and with Black Veil Brides as the headliner it is promising to be a sold out tour. Spirts are high and all the bands are ecstatic about representing one of the biggest magazines in the alt-rock scene. </p><p>Well everyone but the charismatic lead singer of Black Veil. Andy ‘Six’ Biersack has been dreading this day since the end of their last tour. After previously breaking his commitment to having a sober career he now struggles to hold it together long enough to perform each night. The darkness that has plagued him since childhood is threatening to consume him and to make matters worse he is utterly alone. </p><p>After a whiskey-fueled night at the end of their last tour Andy is worried that he has lost the one person who could make him feel at home; Ashley. A hopeless romantic, Andy is desperate for the love of his ‘straight’ bandmate something he knows he’ll never have. Will he find the peace and love that he has spent his life searching for or will he only plunge further into the shadows? </p><p>Hearts are put to the test in what is sure to be one hell of a tour for better or for worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Andy Biersack/Ashley Purdy, Andy Biersack/Matt Good</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. All I Need Is One More Broken Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I let out a shaky breath, smoke seeping out from between my lips. The small exhaust fan above me is buzzing, threatening to break any day now just like everything else in this apartment. Jake would kill me if he knew I was smoking inside, but I don’t see how it matters. This place is a glorified garbage heap so a little cigarette smoke isn’t going to make a difference. </p><p>Lifting the bottle of white wine up to my lips I take a long drink before staring back at the person in the mirror. I don’t know what time it is, nor do I really care, but I’m sure it’s not the ‘proper’ time to be drinking, whatever that means. Black eyeliner is smudged under my eyes and my long black hair is in desperate need of brushing. I’ll get to it later, sometime when I’m not stuck in a fucking spiral of drunkenness, sadness and utter lack of care for my wellbeing. </p><p>The front door clicks and I hear someone fumbling with keys, I guess Jake is back. I flick the rest of my cigarette into the toilet before flushing away the evidence. I stumble, almost losing my balance as I make my way up to the kitchen where he’s fixing himself a plate of questionable Chinese leftovers. </p><p>His eyes dart up to me, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. I see it in his disappointed scowl. “It’s two o’clock in the afternoon Andy,” he states, motioning towards the bottle in my hand. </p><p>“And this is white wine, not liquor.” I retort, needing anything but a lecture from one of my bandmates. None of them have any room to talk. </p><p>“You know we have band practice tonight, right? Tour starts in a week.” <br/>“Don’t remind me” I groan, well aware of the ticking time bomb set to blow up in my face in a matter of days. </p><p>I should be excited, it’s our first major tour. We’re headling the AP Tour this year along with my friend Matt’s band, D.R.U.G.S. I should be, but I’m anything but excited. A few months ago it would have been a totally foreign concept to me, the thought of not wanting to be on tour. Yet things change, people change and in what feels like the blink of an eye the things that used to fill you with joy become your worst fears. </p><p>It’s not that I don’t love music anymore, it’s not that I don’t want to be in this band or that I don’t want to sing anymore. It’s that I don’t want to deal with the things that come with it. The screaming fans who think I’m some perfect fucking idol they should look up to, someone who can save them from themselves when little do they know I can’t even save myself. It’s the interviews, the time schedule, the sleepless nights in a bunk too small for my legs, it’s the loneliness despite being surrounded by people night and day, it’s the expectations. </p><p>I wonder if the fans will notice, notice the new cracks on my perfect exterior where the flawed human being is threatening to breakthrough. I don’t know what happened, but something changed on the last tour. It was as if this darkness had consumed me. The funny thing is that I had actually made a vow to myself at the start of our first tour that I wouldn’t drink. I’d seen alcohol destroy too many of my childhood idols to ever want such evil in my life. </p><p>Like most promises, this one wasn’t kept. It was our second tour and during the kick-off party, I had a fatal lapse in judgment. Someone handed me a drink, the stench of alcohol was potent but I drank it anyway. I can only compare the feeling to someone who is about to drown, and right before they open their mouth and let the water fill their lungs, they manage to resurface gasping for air. All the anxiety, the fear, the demons that have haunted me since childhood were suddenly quiet. I felt free, happy, confident and social. </p><p>I no longer cared what people thought about me, like that life-saving breath of fresh air, I felt alive. </p><p>I guess you could say I went overboard, I started drinking every night and that’s when the darkness started creeping back in. The shadow slowly wrapping its cold fingers around my throat and after the tour ended it spiraled out of control. Bad decisions, at least those that I can remember, haunt me yet I just keep making them. </p><p>So now I have a week before the tour starts, a week to get my shit together. <br/>“And are you fucking listening to me?” Jake snaps, pulling me out of my wine-induced haze. </p><p>“Uh yeah-” <br/>“I said you can’t pull the shit you’ve been pulling on tour. No more ending up on the stage floor crying and making a fool of us. John said that-” <br/>“Thank you, Jake, I’ve seen the videos I don’t need a lecture.” I cut him off. </p><p>—</p><p>The walls burst down the second I see him, like floodgates opening-up and memories that I thought were buried suddenly resurface like it was yesterday instead of a month ago. He’s standing there, silky black hair concealing his face. He’s too busy tuning his base to even notice that I’ve walked in. His tattooed fingers work the strings of the instrument and I’ve never been jealous of an inanimate object before now. </p><p>My heart is racing in my chest and I swear to god he has to hear it. I feel a knot in my stomach and I’m not sure if it’s that or the hangover making me feel like I’m going to throw up. Ashley looks up, his caramel eyes fixating on my lanky frame. Eyes dart up and down and wait, was that a grimace? He sets his base down and his boots click as he walks towards me. </p><p>“You okay Six?” he asked, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow. </p><p>“I’m fine Ash.” <br/>“You’ve lost weight,” he comments, the tone of his voice tells me he doesn’t mean it as a compliment. </p><p>I’ve been steadily dropping weight since our first tour, I don’t know where it got out of control but like most things in my life, it did. God, I want to be fucking wasted right now, anything but dealing with this. </p><p>This dance we’re doing around each other is new, and I don’t know the steps to it. All I know him as is my best friend, the person who’s been there for me since the start, warmth in cold, oxygen to a drowning man. </p><p>I can still feel his lips on mine, the night it all went to hell. It was the last week of the tour and after killing almost an entire bottle of whiskey we made a fatal error. The circumstances that led us to that error are blurry, blacked-out sentences in the story of my life. What I do remember has become my own personal hell that plays on a loop in my brain. </p><p>The heavy motel door slams shut, the outside world ceases to exist as time stands still in some little town in Texas. Those tattooed fingers are dancing along the outline of my hip bones, my back pressed up against the cigarette stained wall. I’ve wanted this moment since we met, to feel his strong arms wrapped around me, to be the center of his attention and desires. And here we are, our lips inches apart, a hurricane about to make landfall. </p><p>His hands glid up my bare skin, following the contours of my torso. A shiver goes down my spine and I feel my heart about to explode. “Kiss me” I whisper my breath catching in my throat. </p><p>Our lips collide and I melt, surrendering myself completely over to him. I part my lips as he slips his tongue into my mouth, his nails digging into my pale flesh. There’s a roughness to it that drives me mad and I can taste the whiskey on his lips. </p><p>He pulls me over towards the bed, falling on top of me as the bed creaks under our combined weight. His fingers lace in my hair before violently pulling it back. I let out a moan all the nerves in my body firing. He has complete control over me, I’m a puppet on strings. </p><p>I tug at his belt, leaning up and whispering in his ear “I want to feel you inside me” I don’t care what the consequences are all that matters is this moment. </p><p>He pushes me back, quickly standing up. My heart stops in my chest as he shakes his head, a disgusted look across his face. “Fuck” he breathes pushing his hair back. </p><p>“W-What?” <br/>“God, what are we doing? No… Andy, I’m not gay. I- fuck I’m drunk. Look we can’t do this, I’m not attracted to you and I’m sure as hell not gonna fuck you.” </p><p>My heart shatters into a million pieces, this has to be a dream… no a nightmare and I will myself to wake up. Only I don’t wake up, “Ashley…” </p><p>“Look I get it, you’re uh- you’re gay. I kind of always suspected that I guess. But I’m not and this isn’t going to happen. We’re bandmates, I’m your friend and we’re both just drunk.” I stopped listening to the words coming out of his mouth but the next thing I knew he was out the door, something about sleeping on the bus. </p><p>We ended up doing the whole awkward day after ‘talk’. Let’s just forget about it, neither of us meant for it to go that far, we can just carry on as if it never happened. Bullshit. </p><p>And now we’re here. It’s been a month since I’ve seen him, the longest we’ve ever gone since he joined the band two years ago. He stares at me, I guess expecting me to say something from this mutually agreed-upon script we’re supposed to be acting out now. Words fail me though, all I feel is the lump in my throat and it feels like it is suffocating me. </p><p>“You’re taking care of yourself, right? You said you were going to get better about that. Cutting down on cigarettes and drinking, eating better.” I can’t tell if the concern in his voice is real or just for show. Did I even say that? Maybe I did, but I didn’t mean it. </p><p>“I’m not going to drink this tour.” <br/>“One out of three is better than nothing I guess.” he jokes, though I don’t think he believes me. </p><p>“I uh- I’ll be back in a sec.” I manage to get out before brushing past him and away from the others. </p><p>I barely make it into the bathroom of the studio before breaking down. Air is hard to find as I gasp for breath, the tightness in my chest getting so bad that I swear I’m going to pass out. I brace myself against the sink, my knuckles turning white from the death grip I have on it. Tears well up in my eyes before falling, mixing with the black shadow around my eyes into long black streaks down my face. </p><p>There is no way I’m going to be able to do this tour sober, I don’t know why I’m fooling myself. I want nothing more than to be half a bottle deep in whiskey right now, all these fucking emotions shut off. Sliding down against the wall onto the tiled floor my head spins from the hangover and lack of oxygen which only increases the nauseous feeling in my stomach. I try to convince myself this is just another panic attack but the feeling of death is so real. I lean over the toilet, pushing two fingers back into my throat until I feel my gag reflex kick in. I throw up the little that’s in my stomach before leaning back against the wall. </p><p>My hands shake and I’m unsteady on my feet as I push myself off the ground. I rinse my mouth out with water and try my best to wipe away the smeared makeup before walking back out to where the rest of my band is. They’re already practicing, the sounds of drums and electric guitars drowning out the sounds of my little breakdown. I try my best to force a smile and join in, but I feel disconnected from them, from the music, from life. </p><p>We practice for hours, and I feel every second of it. While the rest of the guys talk about ideas for the tour I slip out the back. I light up the second I step outside, the nicotine calming my nerves instantly. I’ve smoked half the pack before I even realize it, but the health of my lungs doesn’t make my list of concerns. </p><p>I listen to the sounds of the buzzing street on the other side of the building, closing my eyes as I try to find a moment of tranquility. </p><p>“Andy we need to talk.” his cool voice says from behind me. Ashley walks over to face me, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter from me. I watch as he places one between his pale pink lips, the flame flickering in between the cracks of his cupped hand. </p><p>A dirty little secret about Ashley, he’s known to smoke a cigarette or two whenever he’s stressed. He loves to preach about hating them, how disgusting and dirty they are but compared to the things he used to use it’s nothing. The thing about being so close to someone is you know almost all of their secrets, you’ve met all of their skeletons and Ashley has more than his fair share of them. So I let his theft slide. </p><p>He blows the smoke out in a white cloud before sighing. “I told John that on hotel nights I’ll room with one of the other guys. I think it’s best that way.” </p><p>I scoff, laughing at his feeble attempt to act like we’re not completely fucked. “Is it?” </p><p>“I figured it would be easier for you.” <br/>“Wow you’re so considerate” I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm. </p><p>“Andy you said that we would just agree to forget about everything. Just be normal bandmates. I know you’re hurt but it’s just the way things are. Maybe it’s my fault, I let you believe there was something when there wasn’t.” </p><p>Ashley was my lifeline when I moved here. A month of living in my car before meeting him and the others had taken its toll on me. I was on the verge of giving up and crawling back to Ohio with my tail between my legs. Then I met him and he showed me a warmth that kept me going. He was there the nights I broke down in tears, missing home and second-guessing myself. He was there when I needed advice, guidance, someone who I could trust. Even when I started drinking he was there, making sure I didn’t die of alcohol poisoning, pulling me together the next morning… and now it’s over. </p><p>“I’m sorry for fucking things up. I just… miss what we had, friendship, whatever you want to call it. I’m drowning Ash.” <br/>“I’m still your friend Andy. Don’t be dramatic, you’re twenty now you don’t need someone babying you.” </p><p>My heart aches, I tried to fight it for so long. I tried to tell myself that it was hopeless to have these emotions for someone who would never want me the way I wanted him. I tried to convince myself that the truth wasn’t the truth, that I wasn’t madly in love with the man in front of me. I am in love with him though, and for a few moments on that fateful night, I thought he loved me back. </p><p>“When I asked you to kiss me, why did you?” I ask bluntly. </p><p>He is clearly thrown by the question, and the calm facade he is so perfect at maintaining drops for a second. Just long enough that I can see he is human, not some robot immune to emotions. “I don’t know.. maybe there was a part of me that wanted to try it, maybe it was because you asked. Maybe it was the whiskey.” </p><p>I close the gap between the two of us, the smoke from our cigarettes mixing in the air. He doesn’t move back, just stares at me, his face once again expressionless. “And you felt nothing?” I whisper. </p><p>“Nothing Andy.” We stand there, motionless in the cool Hollywood air. Kiss me, punch me, insult me, push me up against the brick and fuck me, do something. “Then I guess I’ll just forget about it,” I reply. </p><p>He places the cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of my leather jacket. “Goodnight.” he simply says before walking away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Life Is the Pain Of the Pictures In My Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Fuck right there” I moan loudly as the man behind me thrust into me hard. He has my hair wrapped around his clenched fist and he tugs on it violently making me scream out in pain. </p><p>“You like that you fucking slut?” he growls in my ear. The aching in my gut is reaching a climax, the muscles in my body tighten as I feel myself start to cum. My whole body feels hot as I do, my vision blurring as feelings of ecstasy fill me. He flips me over onto my back, thrusting into me deep and without warning. </p><p>“Fuck Max that hurts-” I cry out. He pushes his long black hair back, smirking that devilish grin of his “You fucking love it.” </p><p>He wraps a hand around my throat, pinning me to the mattress. He squeezes the sides of it tightly. I gasp for air, clawing at his hand as I feel myself start to blackout. He releases his hold just before I do and I feel him come inside of me. </p><p>My breathing is labored as he collapses beside me. He grabs a cigarette, lighting it up. He doesn’t wrap his arms around me, kiss me or show a hint of emotion, that’s not Max Green’s style. The pleasure of my orgasm is subsiding and now I just feel empty and numb again, the very feeling I was trying to avoid. </p><p>“When do you leave for tour again?” <br/>“Twenty four hours.” I sigh, grabbing a cigarette for myself. </p><p>Max and I met back when I first moved to California. He’s not what I would call a friend, more like a good time you’ll regret later. He’s got his own issues, but I never ask him about them and in return he doesn’t ask me about mine. We’ve gotten drunk and fucked a few times and that’s all today was. I needed a distraction from the ache in my chest. </p><p>“And you’re seriously not going to drink, the whole tour?” <br/>“That’s the goal. I don’t know if I will succeed. </p><p>I was supposed to have spent the past week sobering up, going through the worst of withdrawals and learning to cope with all the emotions but that’s not what I did. I’ve been on an alcohol and sex binge since that first night of rehearsals. There’s no point in causing pain before you have to, and I’ll put the bottle down tomorrow and not a second earlier. </p><p>“Better you than me, that’s for sure.” he shrugs, fumbling around for his pants and shirt. I want to tell him to stay, just lay here with me and hold me for a little bit. Make me feel like this isn’t just some cheap hookup that means nothing. Lie to me and soothe the pain that’s in my heart. </p><p>“You know you don’t have to leave right now. You’re free to stay the night.” I say so quietly I’m not sure if he hears me or not. </p><p>“Don’t think so kid, but uh good luck with the tour. Let me know when you’re back,” he replies, winking before disappearing into the night. </p><p>—</p><p>11 AM to most people probably isn’t early, but to me, it is the literal definition of hell. My whole body feels like it’s been beaten and thrown in a ditch. I’m hungover from downing the last of the whiskey in the apartment after Max left last night and each step brings a dull ache that reminds me of my misjudgment. I tried my best to find something to wear that covers up the obvious bruises and hickeys on my neck but they still peak through the collar of my leather jacket. There are ruby red scratch marks up and down my back and hips which luckily are well hidden at least by my street clothes. </p><p>Jake didn’t come home until after Max had left, no accident on my part, so no one knows of my little fling last night. It’s not something I particularly want getting out, even just to my bandmates. </p><p>Even through my sunglasses, the sunlight makes me wince as I load my bags into the bus that will be our home for the duration of this tour. Several of them are lined up in the parking lot as band members, roadies and managers run around loading gear, clothes and other tour necessities. Ashley isn’t here yet, and for that I’m thankful. </p><p>I hear footsteps approaching fast behind me and before I have the chance to turn around he has me in a bear hug. I wince at the pain it causes and he quickly notices, letting go. </p><p>“You alright man?” Matt asks. </p><p>“Yeah.., just rough night,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t ask for details. </p><p>Matt Good is another guy I met shortly after moving here. Unlike Max, however, he’s the closet thing I have to a best friend… well besides you know who. The only saving grace to this tour is that he is also on it. </p><p>He must notice the bruises peaking out because he moves the collar of my jacket, inspecting my neck, “Jesus Christ Andy who did this to you?” </p><p>I swat his hand away, “Don’t worry about it Matt just a one-night thing.” There is a look of hurt on his face, nothing too obvious but I see it. I know that Matt has feelings for me, I’ve known from the start.</p><p>It’s not that I couldn’t see myself being with him, and it’s not that we wouldn’t be a good match but my heart has already chosen who it wants. It was a stupid choice, but it’s not one I can change. I’m not immune to the irony in the situation. Here I am falling apart over a man who doesn’t love me, and I find myself doing the same to someone else. Only Matt copes better than me, I think. </p><p>“Well you should be careful, those look pretty serious,” he comments, and any flicker of hurt seems to vanish from his expression. </p><p>I don’t know what to tell him, that I wanted it that way? I have never experienced that glamorized storybook version of sex, intimacy would probably be the better term.  I’ve never felt the gentle embrace of loving, meaningful sex. I only know hard, dirty, lustful fucking. I’m not sure if it’s because that’s what I like or if that’s what I think I deserve. Either way, that’s not a conversation I feel like having with Matt right now. </p><p>“I am careful.” I lie. </p><p>I hear Ashley’s voice off in the distance, a painful reminder that he is in fact on this tour and I do in fact have to live on the same bus as him for the next few months. Matt doesn’t know about what happened on that night, no one does and I want to keep it that way. As far as Matt knows, Ashley and I are still best friends. </p><p>An intense craving for anything alcoholic runs through my veins and I start to wonder if this whole ‘sober tour’ thing is going to even last a day. I know there will be some sort of celebration tonight and everyone will be drinking. Copious amounts of free alcohol and no one to card me, it’s like putting a steak in front of a starving dog. I should probably just avoid it, what a great look that is. The frontman of the headlining band hiding from a few drinks because he lacks any sense of self-control. What a stupid, hungry dog. </p><p>“Damn looks like it’s time to get this show on the road,” Matt says, distracting me from my pity party. </p><p>“I guess it is…” I groan, noticing the groups of people starting to disappear onto their respected buses. I bid goodbye to Matt and somberly make my way towards where the rest of my band is. </p><p>My stomach is in knots as I step inside, the first thing that greets me is of course cases of liquor still yet to be unpacked. This would be a lot easier if the rest of my band weren’t also borderline alcoholics. The guys are all in the back, probably fighting over who gets what bunk. Not that it matters to me that much, I can’t sleep in them anyway. I walk to the back, throwing my stuff into one of the open bunks. </p><p>There’s a wooden door at the end of the rows with a piece of paper taped to it ‘Stabbing Cabin’ it reads in what is clearly Ashley’s handwriting. I roll my eyes at the stupidity of it, before opening the door. Inside there is a full-sized bed along with some boxes of gear and clothes. Ashley is busy putting clothes into a small dresser. </p><p>“Wait, you’re getting the actual bed?” Our last bus didn’t have this type of luxury, hell if I had known there was an actual bed on this bus I would have told John I refused to go on tour unless it was mine. </p><p>“Yeah, is that a problem with you?” <br/>“I’m the frontman, I’m also 6″3 don’t you think I should be the one who doesn’t have to cram themself into a bunk?” <br/>“Sorry kid, I asked John yesterday if I could have it. You know, got to treat my ladies nice.” </p><p>I suppress the urge to punch him in the face, in my current state I’m not sure if I could actually hold my own. He stands up, walking over to me and raising an eyebrow. “Who did that to you?” he asks, motioning to my neck. </p><p>“None of your fucking business. You’ve certainly got no right to talk.” </p><p>He rolls his eyes at me, moving the collar of my leather jacket back to inspect them. I saw them this morning in the mirror, they look like I was beaten. “You look like you got choked to death.” </p><p>I shrug, “something like that.” Something flashes behind his eyes but it’s gone so fast that I can’t figure it out. There is no way he’d be jealous of Max, he already made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want any part of that. </p><p>“Well make sure you cover that up on stage, I don’t want shit being started online.” <br/>“Oh sorry, I’ll ask for your permission next time.” I bark back at him, how does he have any right to tell me what I should be doing? I shake my head before walking out and letting the door slam behind me. </p><p>—</p><p>I feel like I am about to crawl out of my skin. I gave up on trying to get any sleep about an hour ago. The bus is parked in the parking lot of some bar on the way to the first venue. Everyone is inside, drinking, partying and having a great time to celebrate the start of the tour. Not me, I’m miserably sober couped up in this fucking bus. </p><p>My hands are shaking and I feel physically sick. My heart is pounding in my chest, making it hard to breathe. It is as if all the emotions I’ve been suppressing for over a year now are flooding back into me all at once. I don’t know how to handle them, that’s what the alcohol was for. Nothing seems to take the edge off, not even an entire pack of cigarettes. The worst part is there is absolutely nothing to distract me from this pain. </p><p>I’m all alone with my mind, which historically has been a very dangerous thing for my health. I desperately want to be normal like everyone else. I want to be able to go to parties or social events and enjoy them, have a few drinks but be able to stop. I don’t want to feel the panic that comes with having to engage with strangers sober. I want to enjoy the life I have worked so hard for instead of piecing together bits of it from a void of black. I want to feel a love so intense it consumes me, I want to feel happiness. </p><p>The bus door clicks as someone walks in, I keep my head down hoping he’s just going to get something and leave again. His boots stop in front of where I’m sitting and the scent of his cologne fills the air mixed with the clear smell of whiskey. Just like that night… </p><p>“Are you going to stay here and mope around the whole time? Everyone is asking where you are.” <br/>“Tell them I don’t feel good,” I growl, refusing to look up at him. </p><p>“What’s your excuse going to be tomorrow, and the next day? It is your job to go out there, smile, befriend the right people and promote this band, Andy.”</p><p>Can he not see how hard this is on me, or does he just not care? I would expect a bit more from someone who has been in my shoes before. Sweating through withdrawals while the world moves on without you. </p><p>“I literally feel like I’m going to throw up can you leave me alone?” <br/>“It is not my fault you decided to sober up last minute instead of a fucking month ago. Withdrawals suck that’s why you don’t do it week one of the tour.”</p><p>“Ash please… stop,” I beg, my voice betraying me and cracking. </p><p>I need him back. I can’t go through this without him. He was my home for so long and I hate myself for ever letting things get to where they did. I’d rather keep my feelings for him a secret but have him than be whatever it is we are now. I want to feel those strong, tattooed arms wrap around me. I want to hear his soft voice tell me everything is going to be okay. </p><p>“Fine then. I’ll leave you here to suffer all by yourself since that’s clearly what you want.” he shrugs before leaving. Joining the land of the living.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. And We Can't Breathe When We're Not Together</h2></a>
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    <p>The past two shows are a blur to me. I vaguely remember lots of screaming kids, more than I’d ever seen on tour before. I remember signings and meet and greets that felt like my own special blend of torture. I remember shaking, being almost on the verge of a breakdown as the curtain dropped each night. I remember the solitude of my bunk, everyone else enjoying the first nights on tour. </p><p>I am falling apart at the seams and if anyone notices, they don’t care. The fans are too absorbed with their constructed idealized version of me to notice and my bandmates are too busy living their dream to realize that I’ve become stuck in a nightmare. Matt has been keeping his distance, probably thinking I just need ‘time to myself’ when that’s the last goddamn thing I need. </p><p>I’ve experienced stage fright before, back when I was new to performing, but nothing like this. This is pure terror at the thought of dragging my body into the lights to let the world take it’s best shot at me. </p><p>The meet and greet before the show took everything out of me. It felt like every kid that came through was telling me how I’d saved them or how they admire my strength and so on. I faked a smile and thanked them for listening to us, told them to keep being strong and ‘never give in’. The hypocrisy in my words hit me hard, I’m lying to everyone. They all think I’m some fucking savior instead of a fucked up kid trying to keep it together. </p><p>I lie to them every night I go out on stage and pretend to be this character that I’m not. They look up to a false idol, a mask. I wonder what they would think if they knew the truth, would they give up as well? </p><p>John pounds on the door to the bathroom stall. “Andy for fuck’s sake get your ass out here. Curtain time is in five fucking minutes.” </p><p>I grab at my chest, coughing as I try to breathe. Tears run down my face, threatening to smear my war paint. I can’t do it… I’m frozen, unable to move even if I wanted to. The past two nights I’ve barely made it on stage, somehow mustering the courage just in time. Not tonight, tonight is a fucking break down. </p><p>“Andy!” he yells at me again. “I will break this fucking door down and drag you out there.” </p><p>“I’m not going out there.” I manage to choke out. I don’t care if my career goes down in flames I have been trying so hard to pretend that I am okay but I’m at my breaking point. </p><p>“Fucking hell” I can hear the rage in his voice, I don’t blame him. He didn’t sign up to deal with this. I heard the main door to the bathroom slam as he leaves, probably to go beg the venue stall. </p><p>The panic only spirals as I realize that I’m destroying my career. My inability to get my shit together is going to be the reason I fail. Everyone back home told me I wasn’t going to make it, my whole life people have told me that and here I am proving them all right. I lean back against the wall of the stall, trying to calm myself but it doesn’t work. </p><p>“Andy open the door.” the voice on the other side is calm, not angry like John. There’s a hint of annoyance in it, but not anger. Ashley. </p><p>I reach over, unlocking the door. Ashley presses something against my hand, the coolness of the glass feels good against my flushed skin. “Drink it.” he states.</p><p>“But-” <br/>“Now.” I down the glass of whiskey, the burning in my throat calming my nerves from the relief I know it’ll bring. Not even seventy-two hours. </p><p>“Ash I-” <br/>“Shh, stop,” he whispers, pulling me in tight, wrapping his arms around my shaking frame. </p><p>I melt into him, holding onto him like my life depends on it. At this moment, it feels like it does. He traces calming circles on the small of my back. “You have to go out there, Andy,” he says. </p><p>I don’t want to let go. I want to stay here with him just like this. He strokes my hair and it threatens to break me. There is so much pent up inside me, so much hurt and sadness. He lets go, the warmth leaving my body. He tugs my hand, pulling me out into the hallway where I can hear the cheers of the fans. </p><p>I don’t look at any of my bandmates or John who are lined up, ready to go on. I can’t face them. If I go down so do they, and I think they know that. I can feel their resentment. </p><p>–</p><p>I lift the bottle of whiskey up to my lips, taking a long drink. If I already broke, then why stop at one drink? I want to turn tonight into a blackout and I plan on doing just that. I had come very close to throwing it all away tonight. I don’t care though, I know I should but I don’t. </p><p>None of the guys talked to me after the show, not that I wanted them to. I quickly packed up my things and headed to the bus the second the lights on stage went out. They’re all asleep now as I kill this bottle of Seagram’s by myself. I watch as the highway races by outside the window. I wonder if anyone would stop me if I just opened the door and jumped out, would the impact kill me? </p><p>“Hey…” <br/>“If you’re here to lecture me about please don’t.” I plead. </p><p>Ashley is leaning against the threshold to the front of the bus. He’s washed all his makeup off, standing there in a pair of black sweat pants, his toned chest bare. He has his arms crossed and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m too drunk to try and explain myself, not that I really could. What would I say? You don’t love me and having to see you every day is actually killing me? </p><p>“I’m not going to lecture you, you wouldn’t remember it tomorrow anyways.” he sighs, walking over to me and grabbing the bottle from my hand before I can take another drink. </p><p>I grab for it, not wanting to give up my liquid comfort. “No, you’ve had enough.” </p><p>He places the bottle on the counter before sitting down beside me. “You need to shower all that paint off and go to bed.” </p><p>“I don’t want to do this anymore Ash. I can’t.” <br/>“You don’t want to do what Andy?” he asks, concern in his voice. </p><p>“This. Be on tour, sing… lie to people that I’m something I’m not and never going to be.” I curse myself for letting more tears fall, he must think I’m the weakest person in the world. </p><p>“You really want to quit? Give up everything you’ve worked for, let this band fail all because you’re going through a tough time?”<br/>“It’s not just a tough time Ash… I can’t handle this.” I cry, so close to giving up. </p><p>He grabs my face, turning it towards him. I look into his eyes, wishing that I knew the secret to his courage, his ability to keep himself together no matter what. “Andy I know that’s not what you want.” </p><p>“Ash I need you. You were the only reason I was able to make it this far.” <br/>“Shh… go take a shower and clean off, then you can come sleep in the back with me okay?”</p><p>I nod, standing up, unsteady on my feet. Ashley ends up having to help guide me to the small bathroom on the bus. My head spins from all the alcohol and I lean on him for support. He starts the shower, handing me a towel before shutting the door and leaving me by myself. </p><p>The water turns black as I wash away all the makeup and sweat from the show. I almost blackout a few times from the combination of heat and being drunk. Somehow I manage to finish cleaning off and get dressed without falling over. I look at myself in the mirror, the person looking back at me is frail, pale and broken. </p><p>The alcohol has calmed the ache in my soul but it has just left me with the void. The nothingness that is my existence, the numb feeling of being empty. I mourn the boy that I used to be, full of life and hope for the future. I don’t think I’ll ever get that boy back. </p><p>I walk out of the bathroom, holding onto the sides of the bus to steady myself. The wooden door in the back is cracked open and I hesitate for a second outside. I can see Ashley through the crack. He’s sitting on the bed, reading some book. I bite my lip, remembering all the nights we spent together. </p><p>He and I always were paired on hotel nights and often times I would end up falling asleep next to him as he read, my head on his lap as he played with my hair. We were so close… did he really blame me for thinking we could be more, for wanting more? It’s not normal to fall asleep in the arms of your ‘straight’ friend, but I did. </p><p>Even when things got back with my drinking, he wouldn’t get angry with me. He would practically carry me into bed, he would stay up with me, holding my hair back when I got sick from drinking too much or when I was hungover.  A wave of sadness goes over me, did I waste the time I had with him like that being drunk? How many precious moments are lost to the void? </p><p>“You can come in,” he said, not even looking up from what he’s reading. </p><p>I open the door, walking in and shutting it behind me. I stumbled over to the bed, all but collapsing onto it. Ashley sets the book down and pulls me over to him. I rest my head on his bare chest and I can hear the steady beat of his heart. </p><p>His hand feels cool on my cheek as he brushes my hair back out of my face. There is a calmness that overcomes me and I’m not sure if it’s just the alcohol or his touch. I try and fight to keep my eyes open, praying that I’ll remember this tomorrow. </p><p>He pulls the covers over us, turning the lights out leaving only the occasional passing headlights to illuminate the small room. I feel safe in his arms, I feel grounded and at home. </p><p>“I don’t want to have to watch you destroy yourself, Andy,” he whispers. </p><p>“I-I don’t know how to stop.” My words slur together. </p><p>“Just sleep tonight, okay?” he whispers. I try to hold onto this moment, but the alcohol in my system wins as I slip into a dreamless sleep. </p><p>—</p><p>I wake up to a pounding headache and a nauseous feeling in my stomach. I remember bits and pieces of the previous night, but for the most part it’s all a blur. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and wincing at the light streaming in through the windows. I’m not in my bunk, I’m in the private room, Ashley’s room. I look around as my eyes adjust to the light, I’m alone. There’s a bottle of Advil on the bedside table next to me with a bottle of water. According to my phone, it is almost noon, I can hear chatter from the front of the bus and it only makes my headache worse. </p><p>I want nothing more than to just fall back into the bed and pass out for another couple of hours before John drags me into whatever venue in whatever city we’re playing tonight. My stomach, on the other hand, has other plans, the sick feeling intensifies and I know the feeling all too well. I’m gonna fucking puke. I almost blackout as I stand up, my head spinning as I make my way up to the front. </p><p>The guys all stop talking when they see me, I’m sure I look every bit as dead as I feel right now. Ashley is sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone. He stops, his honey-brown eyes darting up at me. He probably thinks I don’t remember being in his arms last night, but I do. I wish he was right… </p><p>My stomach lurches forward as the bus hits a pothole. I groan, holding onto a seat to balance myself. “John… fuck pull over.” </p><p>“We’ll be stopping for lunch in thirty minutes,” he replied, his eyes not leaving the road. </p><p>“I’m gonna throw up, pull over,” I warn him. He mumbles something under his breath but pulls over on an exit ramp, several cars honking as they whiz past the bus. </p><p>I barely make it out the door before throwing up the little in my stomach on the side of the road, my throat burns, already damaged from the copious amounts of whiskey I drank last night. I feel dizzy as another wave of nausea comes over me, fuck why did I have to drink last night… It’s all Ashley’s fault, he forced that first drink on me. </p><p>I close my eyes, trying to make the feeling pass. Tattooed fingers lace through my hair, pulling it back, a hand on my back steadies me. “Just get it over with, you’ll feel better.” Ashley sighs. </p><p>“W-What are you doing?” <br/>“I mean, I was the one who forced you to break your no drinking rule last night…” <br/>“Its’ not your fault.” I mean it is, but it was between breaking my promise (again) or ending my career. </p><p>I straighten up, my stomach finally settling back down. Ashley hands me a piece of gum, helping me back on the bus. John is glaring at me and the rest of the guys just look at me with blank expressions. They can all keep their judgments to themselves. </p><p>I make my way into the bathroom as John starts the engine back up, pulling back onto the road. I brush the taste of acid out of my mouth before popping the piece of gum. When I see my reflection, I understand why everyone was staring. I look like I’ve been drug through hell, my hair is a mess, my face is ghost white and my eyes look sunken in. Oh, the joys of a hangover… </p><p>“Here, take this for your head.” Ashley’s soothing voice says, pushing the bottle of water and a couple of pills into my hand. I take them, looking over at him as he stands in the doorway. “Thanks..” </p><p>Is he really doing all of this because he feels guilty for giving me a drink last night? Or is there something more to it, does he actually care about me? Does he miss the way we were? I shiver, the chills setting in, I need a fucking drink. </p><p>“Take a shower, then when we get to the restaurant you can get something to eat. You’ll feel better then.” </p><p>“I’d rather just have a fucking drink.” <br/>“Andy…” I can hear the disappointment in his voice and it feels like daggers in my chest. </p><p>He sighs, shaking his head before turning around and leaving me by myself. The door to the bathroom shuts and I let out a shaky breath. I’m too numb to cry.</p>
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